Rain Season
by GolfingLioness
Summary: Scarlett returns to Tara after Rhett leaves her, trying to leave Atlanta behind; but she certainly can't leave behind the feelings she has for Rhett. Set in the movie universe.


**Author's Note: **This story is my take on what may have happened after Rhett leaves Scarlett at the end of the movie. I got the idea for Scarlett's move back to Tara from the movie scene where she was picking cotton - I thought being unladylike suited her despite the circumstances, so I couldn't resist having her work some more. ;) I know 'Rain Season' could be a title of some story set in the african savannah, but apparently March and April really are considered rainy months in Georgia.

Hope you enjoy reading!

**Rain Season**

Scarlett turned around only slowly when she heard Mammy's heavy steps coming closer, staring at the tear-streaked face thrown at her by the polished, golden surface of a water bowl; not a day had passed since Rhett's departure without her sobbing echoing through the large rooms she now shared with no one. She knew the warm-eyed black woman felt her pain, perhaps more than Scarlett would like; despite all her self-centered thoughts, she didn't want Mammy to suffer because of the pain twisting in her heart like a knife. Sitting back down on her bed, she went through her brown hair with her fingers, ignoring Mammy's quiet protest against her doing so; she wasn't going out anyway, and Rhett wasn't there to see what she looked like.

»There's nothing in this house for me, Mammy. Not anymore,« she whispered quietly; the older woman had to lean down to her face to hear what she was saying. Suddenly, Scarlett realized how little attention she'd been paying to herself since Mellie's funeral – the skin of her lips was cracked, and the cracks seemed to widen with every word she spoke. Her skin was dry, her hair tousled, her dress crumpled and stained. Mammy seemed to notice that too – she took a small towel and dipped it into the golden bowl Scarlett had left on her small bedside table, squeezing most of the water out and bringing the piece of white cloth up to dab her face.

»Shh, Miss Scarlett,« she whispered in her familiar, soothing voice. »Come, we'll get you a new dress, an' you can go out ...« Her voice suddenly faded into silence – ruefully, Scarlett realized how easily she could be seen through; Mammy knew she wouldn't be going out. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next week! Atlanta was far removed from the pre-war majesty, and every day some Yankee seemed to ride down one of the streets to remind the Southerners just how much they'd been humiliated. The old South would never rise again – all that was left of it was the dust the Northeners' horses kicked up. And even the dust was so quickly gone with the wind, blown away across the ocean. Rhett was right – the South died the day he brought them to Tara, died amidst clusters of wounded, sick and battered soldiers returning from the battlefields. No, she couldn't stay in Atlanta, not anymore. It was being rebuilt, like much of the South, but despite all the life returning to it, it was empty.

With determination rushing through her, she thrust her head back and looked into Mammy's worried, dark brown eyes. »We're going to Tara, Mammy. Please pack everything we need.« The old woman dropped the small white towel into the golden bowl; the muffled splash was, beside her shallow breathing, the only sound to be heard in the large room. »To Tara? But Miss Scarlett, no one's in Tara no more, the place is empty ...« Scarlett stood up, moving towards and window and looking out onto the street. Men were smoking, matrons were chatting, children were laughing and playing ... the smell of several midday meals was in the air, along with the scent of sentinel Georgia Pines. But this wasn't her Atlanta – not without Rhett.

»Not as empty as this house, Mammy,« she said quietly, turning her head away from the window to look at the black woman still standing beside her bed. »We'll ... rebuild it, is all. You and me and Pork. I picked cotton there during the war, I can do some more work!« After the sudden burst of determined enthusiasm, her voice turned quiet again, and she leaned against the windowsill. »It's home to me, it's always been. This ... he gave this house to me. Without him, Mammy, without him it's no home.«

Mammy nodded solemnly, her face suddenly hard. »You're returnin' to Tara t' ...« Scarlett waved her end, rubbing her temples with the other. »Yes, Mammy. I'm going back home to get Rhett out of my mind! I've treated him ... well, I've most certainly not treated him like I should have. And when I realized I loved him ... he thought I was lying.«

Mammy rose with a sigh, taking the golden bowl into her hands. »I'll pack, Miss Scarlett. Please let me know which dresses you'd like to take with you.« When the old woman left, Scarlett walked to her closet as if in a daze, touching the dresses inside with her fingers. Each of them was a gift from Rhett ... Rhett. It was strange that the memory of him taking her, Mellie and the baby Beau to Tara was more vivid in her mind than the image of his face when he said he didn't give a damn what she did. His tanned face was smeared with ash and damp with sweat, his dark eyes glittering when he took her into his arms and told her to give him a happy memory to ride to war with. The shirt that looked so white and flawless in Atlanta was damp with sweat and grey with soot by the time they reached the crossroads, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were so strong, his embrace so comforting and bothersome at the same time. And his teeth, so white when he smiled ... that day, he said he loved her for the first time.

Scarlett snapped out of her memories when she heard Mammy enter the room. Without paying more attention to the dresses, she picked a few of them and laid them out onto the bed – there would be no need for dresses at Tara immediately, anyway. She needed some clothes to work in much more urgently ... she stopped in her tracks on her way back to the closet, turning towards Mammy abruptly. »I trust you to pack the rest of my things yourself – I will take some of Rhett's shirts, it's unlikely he'll miss them.« She was out of the room before Mammy could say anything to stop her, rushing down the corridor and bursting into Rhett's bedroom. It still smelled of him – she had forbidden Mammy and the rest of the staff to change the covers; she never mentioned it, but she had a feeling Mammy knew she snuck into Rhett's bed most nights. Contrary to what she'd expected, it didn't calm her down – it only made her regret not loving him when he was there, willing to take her into his arms. She regretted it so much ... every morning, Mammy found tear streaks on her face, and Scarlett never bothered with hiding them from the old woman.

Forcing her to snap out of her thoughts when a hazy, blurry curtain started covering her eyes, she blinked angrily and strode towards his closet; Rhett had a number of shirts similar to the one he'd worn when he was taking them to Tara, and Scarlett carefully took a couple of them from the hangers, draping them across one of her forearms and leaving the room as soon as she was done; she knew she would cry again if she stayed longer, which would only cause them to leave the house later. God forbid Rhett should decide to 'come home' for whatever reason that midday and see her leaving ... but did she truly not want him to? She would have to leave a note anyway – maybe he would follow her to Tara then. But probably not, he didn't love her anymore. Most likely, he would just be happy she was out of the picture, so he wouldn't have to care about the gossip spreading up and down the street.

Rushing back into her room, she placed the shirts into the suitcase Mammy had left open while she was packing things in the bathroom. Then, she blundered across the room to the walnut writing desk, pulling open one of the drawers and grabbing a small pot of black ink; she was shocked to see that her hands were shaking so badly the lid of the glass pot clattered as she lifted her hand to put it on the polished desk surface. Reaching down to pull another drawer open, she took out a sheet of heavy, cream-colored writing paper, crumpling it across the middle inadvertently; why was she so nervous? He had left her first, and he didn't state she was to remain in Atlanta after all ... she was surprised by her ability to think so coldly about him – as coldly as she had before she realized she loved him.

An hour later, she put the pen away and lifted the sheet of paper, blowing on it to quicken the ink's drying. Her eyes flitted across the written words again, and she could feel her cheeks flushing – what was meant to be a short explanation had turned into a page-long confession of her feelings. For a brief moment, she considered throwing it away and writing another – but there was no time. Mammy and Pork were already waiting by the carriage outside, and they had to leave soon in order to give the neighbors as little time as possible to speculate about what was going on.

Scarlett rushed down the stairs while folding the letter, leaving it on the small table by the door; Rhett would notice it as soon as he came home, even if only because he always left his cigar box there. Glancing back at the wide staircase only fleetingly, she closed the door behind her firmly and got into the carriage, telling Pork to drive off. Mammy, who was sitting next to Pork on the coach box, turned back to gaze at Scarlett with her warm eyes – but she said nothing, knowing that the decision had been made.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

»Good morning Mammy, Pork,« Scarlett said shortly as she stepped outside into the cool morning, glancing back to look at the house – the facade was grey from the dust and ash of the war days, and it hadn't flattered it that no one had lived there for years. The garden and fields around it were overgrown with weeds, littered with charred wood and loose bricks. What little of the fences remained was brittle and charred, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. The house was neglected, but it could be lived in for a while longer – what worried Scarlett more were the surroundings, but Pork and Mammy had persuaded her to restore the house first. »We'll get people t' help us,« she had argued, »Good people – used to work on t' cotton fields 'fore them Yankees told 'em they can go home.«

They were supposed to come this morning – Scarlett, Mammy and Pork had done as much work as they could in the past few days, but some of the work, especially around the roof and facade, required more men. They had agreed that Scarlett and Mammy would work inside while Pork would work outside with the others who'd come to help. Last evening, when she was so tired she just collapsed into her old bed, Scarlett admitted to herself she'd never have thought she would have to work like this; but then again, she had picked cotton during the war, which was not much easier.

She hadn't taken any of her dresses out of the suitcase since they arrived from Atlanta – each day, she wore the old skirts she found in the closet; she recognized them as the lower part of the dress she'd worn to the party at Twelve Oaks the day she met Rhett. Above this, she wore one of Rhett's shirts – it reached down to her knees and was so wide around the shoulders it might have accommodated a woman twice her size; she had to roll the sleeves up past her elbows in order to stop them from slipping back and covering her arm to the tips of her fingers. Her sweat had stained the collar that used to hug Rhett's neck perfectly – it hung around her own loosely, revealing a silver necklace with a golden ring. She didn't want to risk losing her wedding ring while she was working on the plantation, so she took a silver necklace and put it around her neck – it was old, and even the few days of work caused the silver to rub off and leave some of the links a dull coppery color, but the wedding ring didn't stop glinting – in fact, it only seemed to glint brighter in the strong sunlight than it had in Atlanta.

Only a few minutes passed until a group of black men came walking across the edge of a small hill, singing spirituals in their low, beautiful voices. Instead of greeting them, Mammy and Pork joined in; the men had long halted in front of Scarlett by the time the song was finished and their voices faded into the rapidly warming air. »Missus Scarlett,« one of them said, a large man with bulky arms and a wide smile, »We honored to help you.« It was obvious that he didn't speak a lot of English, but Scarlett couldn't care less – these men were here to help her. And when she thought about how her neighbors in Atlanta would scowl if they could see her now, her lips stretched into a wide smile. »You are most welcome! Mammy will bring you a meal before we start.«

She led the way to the house, and the men once again burst into song.

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
That saved a wretch like me.  
I once was lost but now am found,  
Was blind, but now I see.  
_

Somehow, Scarlett knew the words to the song – and, with her neighbors still on her mind, she lifted her voice to join it with those of the black men and Mammy.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Weeks passed by – during the few breaks Scarlett took during the restoration of Tara, she always caught herself gazing at the small hill, hoping to see Rhett riding towards the house; his mood didn't matter. She so longed to see him again, may he be angry, upset, or amused at the fact that she'd taken her life into her own hands. But he never came, and days passed on – days and weeks and months and seasons. Nearly a year from the day Scarlett returned to Tara, the house was completely restored and the fields rid of the weeds. Growing cotton would be dangerous, because Yankees still associated it with slavery, so a large portion of the fields remained empty; Mammy and Pork had sowed wheat and several other crops close to the house, so they could easily prepare meals from what they grew. They had agreed to build a new stable the following season, so they could house cattle and horses.

The wild grasslands by the path leading to the plantation were turned into modest gardens with cypress trees, shrubs and many Georgia pines; not able to get used to not working after she'd spent so long without the luxury she had known all her life, Scarlett tended to it herself. With the help of the workers Mammy knew, they finished cobbling the former dusty path just before the rains arrived – and so it was the sound of a horse's hooves on stone that announced, one mild, rainy day in March, that a visitor was approaching.

Scarlett was sitting on the front porch, dressed in skirts with floral patterns and one of Rhett's white shirts; the sleeves were still rolled up past her elbows, the collar still loosely hanging around her neck. She no longer worked so much, but the golden ring was still kept on the worn silver necklace. Her skin had turned from pale to brown beneath the warm summer sun, and her formerly dark had had golden strands woven amidst the lighter brown. Her palms were callused – she knew she couldn't return to Atlanta even if she'd liked; her appearance would give away immediately that she had to work. When visiting her neighbors, only few of which were people who knew the O'Hara family, she was careful to wear the dresses she'd brought with her, completed with wide-brimmed straw hats and white gloves; no one ever expressed to her face the curiosity about why she lived alone, with only two members of staff to tend to her needs.

If truth be told, the lady-staff relationship had blurred during the past year; Scarlett had never believed something like this would be possible, but now she saw Mammy and Pork as members of her family – she sang songs with them, and they told each other stories about her childhood on the plantation. Something like that would have been unheard of in Atlanta – but so would the fact that she was working on her own estate, and Scarlett no longer cared about Atlanta. That didn't mean she didn't care about Rhett anymore – he was in Charleston after all, she told Mammy playfully, and not in Atlanta.

She lifted her head from the embroidery she'd been doing when she heard a horse; and this time, she saw the image she had imagined in her mind so many times. Someone was approaching the house, riding on a black horse. Of course, it wasn't just someone – it was Rhett. Of this, she was sure even before she could make out his face, before Mammy hurried away from the cypress trees she'd been tending to and onto the porch. Rainwater was dripping from the edges of her straw hat, wet spots splattering her skirts. »Miss Scarlett – it's Mr Butler comin'!«

Scarlett stood up – the concoction of emotions inside her was so scrambled she couldn't identify one as prevailing. First, there was surprise. Then came boundless wonder, happiness, and curiosity. And then, last of all, came a powerful rush of love. Love, she reminded herself, that she didn't know if he shared. But certainly, he had to – why else would he have ridden all the way up to Tara from Atlanta? She looked around for Mammy, but the old woman had disappeared – only to leave her alone with Rhett.

She swallowed hard, watching as he rode up the cobbled path and stopped his horse with a tug on the reins, dismounting with his characteristic light-hearted ease. Only one look at his face challenged her eyes to start shedding tears once again – she had treated this man so badly, and he loved her all along; until she foolishly rushed to Ashley the day Melanie died. She loved him still, she did – but he no longer believed her. Would he believe her now? Was that why he had come? She had written that note a year ago – did he only return to Atlanta now, and ride to Tara right after reading it? Or did he read it a few days after her departure and then hesitated?

She looked at him, and he looked at her with those dark brown eyes.

After a moment of silence, he took off his hat and shook rainwater off his coat-covered shoulders, walking up to the porch and resting his hands on the rail. Scarlett eagerly took in the smell wafting from him, something he noticed with a thin, white-toothed smile and a glint in his dark eyes. They both gasped for air and started to speak at once – but neither led their sentence past the first few letters. He smiled again, nodding his head to urge her to speak first. Trying to make sense of the jumbled sentences just screaming to wrench free of her throat, she failed. In the end, her voice was husky when she said, »Rhett ... did you ... find the letter just now?«

He shook his head, running a hand through his damp, black hair. »No,« he drawled, »I found it a few days after you left, judging by the date on your note. I was quite surprised, to say the least – not so much by the fact that you decided to leave that dreadful house, but more so by the thought that your letter appeared to be heartfelt.«

»I-it was,« she stammered quietly, »It was heart ... felt.« She stood up from the wooden chair and walked the few steps towards the rail, stopping a hand's breath away from it and looking at Rhett's handsome, tanned face. It was lined with several tiny, sparkling droplets of rain that slowly glided down his cheeks, across his jaw and onto his neck, where they disappeared in the collar of a white shirt not unlike the one she was wearing. She couldn't make up her mind – was he going to act as coldly as he had that last day in Atlanta? Or would he ... love her like he had before, when they were traveling to Tara and he was just about to ride to war? »Is it true, Scarlett?« He spoke slowly, gently. His voice was deep and rumbling, as soft as velvet. He clearly wanted to continue, but she couldn't wait any longer – she reached for his hand, slightly surprised that he didn't pull it away. Instead, he put his fingers into the gaps between hers; and it was then that she felt the familiar touch of his own golden ring.

»Rhett can you ever ... give me one more chance?« He lifted his other hand and caressed her cheek, his characteristic smile playing about his lips. »Can't believe it,« he said light-heartedly, »Scarlett O'Hara seems to be on the verge of begging me as I had once foolishly begged her.« She didn't know whether it was a joke or not, and refused to hold his words for something they were not. Now anguished, she whispered, »Then why is it that you came here?« He leaned across the rail, raindrops pattering onto his back. His face was so close to hers that thin strands of his black hair were tickling her cheek, his breath hot against her ear. »The reason why I came is exactly the one you have in your head. I came for you, Scarlett. I had been wanting to come ever since I read that letter, but I hesitated. Foolish of me, to hesitate after I hadn't hesitated a minute to start courting you at Twelve Oaks, I know. But so it is, is all. We had both behaved ... pretty badly, but that's gone. I sold that damn house.«

She laughed despite herself, and he joined in for the briefest of moments before his face turned blank again. Leaning even closer, he planted a trail of tender, quick kisses along her jawline before leaning his lips to her ear. They felt hot – or was it just the blood boiling inside her at the thought that he was back?

»Scarlett, contrary to what I said – I do give a damn.«

Their lips met, like they had the day he had asked her to marry him, and when they parted, both were gasping for air with smiles on their faces. He ran his hands up her forearms, placing them gently on her shoulders. »You surprise me, Scarlett,« he mused, »Wearing one of my shirts and working your hands off here at Tara. But it sure is a pleasant surprise.« She rested her head on his chest, giggling girlishly into his shirt – the silence that followed was pleasant, and both were content to listen to the sound of rain. Rhett's black horse snorted, digging around in a bed of pine needles with his hoof. Glancing around, Rhett's smile widened into a grin when he noticed Pork peeking from behind one of the old stone walls separating the plowed fields from each other. »Pork, could you bring the horse out of the rain?«

The black man was clearly embarrassed at having been caught, and lingered around the front porch no longer than absolutely necessary to lead the horse away. Turning back to Scarlett, Rhett hoisted himself up onto the rail and leaned down to her, a droplet of rain sliding from his jaw to land on the tip of her nose. He wiped it away with the tip of his finger, still smiling. »We could get used to this, you know. I've nothing against honest country work.« Scarlett decided to throw away the last remnants of her inner lady, taking Rhett's hand and sitting down on the rail beside him. Both looked out at the misty landscape as she spoke next. »I know – you used to help the staff dig around the garden in Atlanta.«

»So I did,« he agreed, »Much to the dismay of our well-mannered neighbors. If they could see you now, God knows what they'd say.« Scarlett laughed loudly – how could he have guessed just what she was thinking about every time she did something that would be perceived as utterly unladylike? »I admit, I often imagine the faces they'd make should it come to that.«

»But as I said,« Rhett continued, »We could get used to this. I've still got work in Charleston, but wouldn't mind helping around our lovely country house. I love you like this, Scarlett – brown skin, blisters on your hands, wearing my shirt ...« He trailed off, the smile never leaving his lips. »Oh, you're so brash!« Scarlett exclaimed in mock dismay. »I see you've already invited yourself in, Mr Butler, and who am I to keep you out? Never worry, should we have to go to Charleston, or Atlanta, I still have a few dresses that have mostly gone unused so far.«

Rhett laughed along, putting both his arms around her shoulders. »Oh, yes. You'll be the lady, and I'll be the gentleman.« Wearing his perfectly tailored suit as he was, his hair combed back as carefully as always, it wasn't difficult to believe him. Suddenly, he put an end to the joke and cleared his throat, instantly drawing Scarlett's eyes back to his own. »Scarlett, I love you.« He wanted to say more, but decided not to – and for Scarlett, those four words sufficed entirely. »Rhett,« she whispered, her voice weak because she was still out of breath from their laughs, and had forgotten to breathe while he spoke. »I love you too ... more than I could ever write in a letter ... or say, for that matter.«

He guided his lips to hers – and, had Rhett not been leaning against one of the wooden pillars supporting the porch, but of them would have gone tumbling into the wet grass. They remained sitting after he, with visible reluctance, broke the kiss, once again looking out at the mist-shrouded, red-barked pines Scarlett had planted in the first few months since coming to Tara. »But you'll be in Charleston,« she mumbled against his shirt, »And I'll be here. How will it ... work?«

Rhett raised his eyebrow thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with one of his hands – the other still rested around Scarlett's waist. »Well, for most of the year I'll have to stay in Charleston and return here for the weekends. Perhaps you could come down with me sometimes, too ... but right now, darling, it's rain season. Can't bother with riding down in the rain, can I?«

He answered his own question after a moment of silence, the sound of rain intertwining with the feel of puzzled silence radiating from Scarlett. »Nah, 'course I can't. For the rain season, I'll be staying here. And you won't drive me out so easily.« His last words once again carried the note of a light-hearted joke, and he winked at her. She smiled in return. »I don't want to drive you out, Rhett. Never again.«

»Do I have your word?« he whispered, making light-hearted fun of the reputation she'd thrown away by moving back to Tara. Scarlett took it, slowly starting to walk towards the door leading into the house. Deciding to pretend she'd taken his question seriously, she wiped the smile from her face before answering.

»You have my word ... as a lady.«

But she was nowhere near as good at pulling a blank face as Rhett was – when Mammy opened the front door, she stared at the laughing couple in open disbelief.


End file.
